


It's amazing what you'll find (face to face).

by parkadescandal



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bittersweet, DJ AU, Duet, Estrangement, Mutual Pining, SorikuWeek2020, hearts in tune are free to [airhorn sfx], opening the door to darkness as an allegory to 'i took a pill in ibiza', people meets pitchfork meets paopu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkadescandal/pseuds/parkadescandal
Summary: "I'm always impressed by the range. He's not afraid to explore new beats, he's at it from every angle. Nothing's ever good enough—you wonder how much he'll tear up the world to find the next new thing—he's like...the seeker of dankness."or:D-d-d-d-dream drop the bass.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	It's amazing what you'll find (face to face).

**Author's Note:**

> AU - childhood friends to estranged electronic music industry professionals to lovers, or, [the radio disc jockey has facilitated the onset of our rekindled amorous affections](https://youtu.be/C-dvTjK_07c)
> 
> couple of content things hinted at that i'll mention just to be safe: fic alludes to a comphet relationship of convenience between riku and naminé and contains (very briefly) implied past substance abuse

> **_High profile pop producer seen 'collabing' with up and coming starlet sweetheart — guilty by associated act?_ **
> 
> _Electronic pop superstar Ansem made more than just the crowds wave this week. After celebrating record sales from the last leg of his most recent tour, he seems to be settling back into routine at the studio, though the notoriously reclusive emperor of electronica seems to be adding something new to the mix in the form of a new boo: former lyricist turned up and coming crooner operating under the stage name_ forgetmenot _._
> 
> _Candids were caught of the pair—already subject to intense speculation since their explosive joint effort single screamed to a number one with a bullet last month—outside of the DJ's city apartment last week. To the outside ear, a deep house dance mogul's spin on twee indie art pop probably isn't the logical progression, but sonic opposites attract in a big way on the new banger, the latest in what seems to be a series of new singles for both acts. Both artists have been known for steering clear of paps and press, but is it possible they're holding on close to more than just their privacy? While both artists are noted for their impressive catalogue of guest stars, they have yet to get quite so cozy with anyone else on or off the stage._
> 
> _While musically this is a new direction for Ansem, historically he doesn't limit his craft just to one note, either. While flying blind in the early days he found his wheelhouse in club sets and experimental tracks posted exclusively on digital music sharing and distribution platforms, he struck it big in the house scene upon being discovered by his producer. Since then, he's shifted from genre to genre in the name of progress, transforming everywhere from trance to trip-hop and dubstep to dance. Collaborators from all corners tip their caps in his direction. Frequent features gush about the process, and why they keep coming back for more, citing tight harmonies, sharp lyricism, and polished production on top of ease of connection—rare these days when everyone's a secret diva. He's just secret._
> 
> _But while many find him mum on the details, others come to his defense, impressed with his passion for the music and level head. Long time contemporary XIII knows a thing or two about creative dissent—the former member of notorious musical collective The Organization has been through a genre shift or two of his own, but calls the work he produced with Ansem for his self-titled debut "essential" in the process of finding his own sound, praising his innovation in a recent interview:_
> 
> _"I'm always impressed by the range. He's not afraid to explore new beats, he's at it from every angle. Nothing's ever good enough—you wonder how much he'll tear up the world to find the next new thing—he's like...the seeker of dankness."_
> 
> _Be sure to preorder the new LP from Darkside Records coming your way this March on every major platform. While you're waiting on your preorders to drop, you can stream their latest single on every major platform._

* * *

"Gettin' ready?"

Lea saunters into the office without a noise but for the slamming of the door. Sora jumps, crinkling the magazine he's squinting at between tense fingers.

"Where'd you find this?"

"'Cuz the night's real close to getting started, you know," Lea drawls in continuation, blazing directly past.

"Did you leave this for me?"

"The article? Sure. Little light reading. Not your kinda bedtime story?"

"I just wondered why you'd leave me a… a tabloid. Celebrity gossip."

"Well, if that's all you got outta that, then I'd maybe start rethinking some of those night classes. Brush up on those comprehension skills."

"No, lay off. I'm serious." Sora's brow furrows without his permission.

"Goodness me. Got a little sand in your shoes today?" Lea looks him over, unimpressed.

"You said yourself it's time to open up shop. Or should you be the one looking for classes?" he responds snidely.

"Fine. Then I'll get to the point. I recall you saying it'd be nice to have a good draw act come through. Someone to get the people talking and drum up a fresh face or two. Someone notorious."

"I didn't say _notorious_."

"Same difference. So I did a little digging, made a couple phone calls, forged a couple signatures—"

" _Lea_."

"Maybe just your signature. Don't worry."

Sora sighs.

"Nothing strictly illegal. So we've got an event, hooray. And now for the rest of it—"

"I know I don't have to tell you that the business side of it's really not my—"

"Not your forte. I know. So good news."

He waits expectantly.

"I _said_ , ' _good news_.' That's normally the part where you say ' _thank you_.'"

"Spit it out already," Sora says, a growing nausea churning. "Congrats. You got us the band, or the opener, or the—"

"We got _him_."

Sora looks on blankly for a moment.

"I understand. You're speechless. Wondering if it's all a joke. A cruel ploy. But I'm dead serious—we've got the one hundred percent bona fide deal. Live _and_ bigger than life. Special just for you. So you're welcome."

Sora sits down hard into a nearby stool, elbow on the table and face in his hand.

"I can see you're overwhelmed. The joy is taking over. It's alright. Let it happen."

"Did you know?" he asks wearily.

"A whole hell of a lot but maybe not what you're asking about."

"That's… I…"

He waves helplessly in the general direction of the article. Lea grimaces with a noise of regret.

"Yikes. An ex?"

" _No!_ No. Not like that. It wasn't like that."

"A… wannabe ex."

"Just gimme a minute, okay?" Sora sighs, looking down to the floor. "Or maybe a whole lifetime of minutes."

"That bad, huh," Lea says, dropping down beside him.

"It's just… really weird if this is going to be the first time in years I see my best friend."

Lea stops midway through stretching out his legs and looks on at him agape.

"Uh oh," he intones, mouth pulling a very tight cringe. "Did I, uh. …Oops?"

"You _oops_ , yeah," Sora says, and stands up to turn dazedly in the other direction.

Maybe it would have been worse if there had been an actual falling out to speak of. Maybe it would have been better. When Riku first set out on his own they talked constantly—never putting down the first conversation they picked up, messaging one another for hours already before one of them would say, ' _okay, hey, it's easier if I just call you, is that okay_?' and ' _no, any time, you know that,_ ' before they'd lose hours of sleep swapping war stories until the early morning. But the more time passed the fewer calls there were. And then fewer messages. And then fewer… _anythings_ , until there was only the maw of absence, left behind from quiet phones and unlit message boxes.

And it was okay. Not everyone stayed friends forever—couldn't be expected to when their careers caught fire like they had, and high profile friends had sidled in to fill in some of the gaps. And while it wasn't the _same_ , it wasn't a lonely life either. And Sora at least comforted himself knowing that he seemed occupied just the same, gleaned from the snatches of press releases and bridges of singles that would catch him off guard. He told himself that it was only evidence that Riku was happy out there in the midst of fame, though he never quite cared or dared to confirm, not as scared of the envy seated in his heart as he was the likely possibility that it was untrue.

If Riku _weren't_ happy, then it meant that they'd walked away from one another for nothing—worse, perhaps it meant that Riku didn't think there was anything worth coming back to in spite of it. But even worse than that, perhaps it meant that they would have been much better off together. But it was a little too late to confirm.

Loath as Sora was to admit it, he hadn't really known the way he felt about Riku until he had to feel it alone. It wasn't so much not treasuring what he already had than it was not knowing that he had a treasure. Though over time he always found little ways to keep their shared dreams alive. He'd say lots of them were unconscious—and there were plenty of those, too—but he never quite gave up on the hope that one day they'd reconnect, and run the operation together. Although now it's the cause of no small amount of chagrin—it was naive to think that it would always just be the two of them and the music.

When the Orichalcum opened it was far from joyless. A lot of effort and passion had gone into it from the start. But he could never quite shake the feeling that it wasn't what he was really meant to do. The venue to best all venues—the place to be. It would continue to gain traction over the years, the little club that could, but maybe it wouldn't be with him at the helm. Perhaps he was only just a small part of something much bigger.

The actual music-making parthad fallen by the wayside. He dabbled, knew enough to control damage and win hearts, but the simple days dreaming of graduating to better equipment and bigger audiences had long since passed. All that was left of him on that front was coded into a soundboard tucked inside the satchel of its owner, who walked away without him as a last resort. And yeah, scratch that—nothing would have been so terrible as keeping Riku there when the only choice he had for himself was to leave. So was it terrible that Sora still couldn't feel happy about it?

The days ticked by despite Sora's best efforts to ignore them, but it seemed there wasn't any stopping the pervasive sense of dread. With any luck he could get away without incident—chalk it up to strange coincidence, and ships passing in the night—but something inside told him he wasn't going to wiggle his way out of this one. Maybe it was the same part of him that still had no intention of giving up on him, even after all this time. But Sora thinks he could probably be forgiven, being a little out of practice and all. Or so he tells himself at least while hiding in the club's office, conspicuously missing from the floor. It doesn't take Lea long to sniff him out.

"Aren't you gonna check the stand?" he prods, to which Sora waves a hand.

"Too much going on."

"You always check the stand," Lea says incredulously.

"No, sure don't."

"Always."

"It'll be fine," he snaps. Lea shrugs, holding his arms out with an eyebrow raised.

"It's your reputation at stake, pal. Can't go blaming me when something's out of place."

Fighting words. Sora heaves a sigh of disdain and delicately stomps from the office.

Unsurprisingly, the booth is nice, an elaborate set up that's well cared for and laboriously constructed and deconstructed with each show. So many places, so many people, so many performances. There were staff working at the Orichalcum who wouldn't see half as many places as this booth would, even considering the short lifespan of instruments carted around and tossed about the open road. He's almost envious—of the lifestyle or the kit itself, he's got no idea.

It's why he's quick to notice something out of place at right about eye level where the electric keyboard and the controller lay waiting. On the partition that separates the equipment from the adoring public is taped a photo. It's the only thing not sleek and modern in the entirety of the setup; in fact, it's old, cased in a little laminate pouch that served as a poor bandaid to the damage already done to the image, like it had overseen more than the lifespan of all the equipment put together.

He squats down for a closer look, shocked to find that it's a photo of himself. Rather, a photo of them, together, from a whole lifetime ago.

His brow furrows. He purses his lips. There's a weird prickle traveling up his spine and over his neck that tingles at his skull so intensely he's tempted to muss his hair right out of the tenuous grip of approximately three tons of pomade in order to relieve it. The two of them, grinning ear to ear with silly scrunched up expressions in the era of birthday parties and late nights stayed over talking of all the things they'd do when they were famous. This one in particular from their late teens, cheesing over the brand new soundboard he scrimped and saved for himself to give as a present—the one they'd spent hours and hours hunched over waiting for the next lightbulb moment to come from coding just the right combination of keys.

He's still staring when the tell-tale sounds of mic checks and bustling set-up crew fade out into the murmurs of the slowly gathering crowd of early bird guests. At the sound of footsteps taking the stage he rockets upward, immediately smacking his head on the sound equipment directly above. Wincing, he grabs his head and inhales. When he turns and opens his eyes, he looks directly into another pair, widened in disbelief.

Sora grimaces, only partially from the pain. On the exhale, he weakly raises his hand just the slightest bit.

"Heya, Riku," he says in a small voice. Riku blinks at him for a moment, mouth open. Sora makes toward what he hopes is a speedy exit. "Sorry. Just doing my checks, I'll get out of your hair—"

"No, no, wait!" Riku reaches out for his arm as if to snatch it, but levels in a second to gently tug him at the wrist instead. "Stop, what are you—" he begins, and Sora shakes his head.

"I was done here anyway, I've gotta check if they need me in the booth, and…"

Realization dawns.

"Should've known," Riku says softly, letting go of his wrist. "Of course you made it."

Sora raises an eyebrow.

"Kinda gotta funny feeling that ' _made it_ ' looks different for you than it does for me."

"Does it matter?" he replies, and it's touched with just a hint of bitterness—he blinks, and looks away, shaking his head _forget it_ , but there's no covering up.

"But you've… you've got it all, right? Your deal, and your gigs, and… and your girl."

"You mean Na—" Riku begins, a question tinged with a touch of hysteria, but he settles quickly. "No, no, it's not… We met a while ago. In a time where we kinda both needed everyone to get off our backs. We figured we'd let everyone assume."

"Oh. That… makes sense, I guess." Sora reaches up to rub at his sore head. "But I'm happy for you! Look… look how far you've come, and everything you've done…"

"No, look at you, I… I almost didn't recognize," Riku starts, reaching up unconsciously to touch Sora's hair before stopping himself. "I always wondered."

"Not like you couldn't've found out—" Sora says, surprised at how bitter it came out; he shakes his head aggressively. "Never mind, sorry. You've got a show, I don't want to be in your way."

"You'd never be in my way." He responds so severely that it forces Sora's eye back to him, and the tight expression on his face. "It'd be impossible. You—I'm just glad I wasn't in yours."

"What?" he says sharply. "What on earth are you talking about, how could you think that, you're the one who…"

Sora stops, exasperated, and sighs. He bites his lip and gestures vaguely, shuffling where he stands.

Riku purses his lips and picks up where he trails off.

"I… I don't think you would have been a fan. I wasn't." At the question in his expression he shakes his head again. "I'm not proud. I was trying to fit in, there was so much going on, and I got involved in some things. And I hurt some people. I needed to clean up my act, but… I didn't want you to know how much I sold out. I would have just been a disappointment."

"Well. I was still disappointed." Sora sighs. "Not with you. Just with… the whole not having you around thing. Kind of a bummer."

"But at least you were okay. And I'm sorry. You were better off without me."

"Okay?" Sora starts, voice rising. "You never even saw me, how would you know? When did you get to decide? _'Okay_ ,' when I didn't even know how _you_ were, and…"

"I—"

The house lights dim.

"You stopped calling," Sora says, simple, and childish, and sad. Riku only shakes his head.

"Scared you weren't gonna answer."

"Stupid." Sora drags the sleeve of his blazer across his face with a sniff. "I'll always answer."

"…I'll keep that in mind."

"Will you?"

The stage lights up, one at a time, and they both squint in the glare.

"I want to," Riku says, putting an arm up to cover his eyes and blocking some of the bright so it arcs and filters through instead.

Sora shakes his head, gesturing at the stage as he starts to protest. "My office is right down the hall from the dressing rooms," he supplies. "Y'know. If you maybe wanted to catch up."

Riku nods, mouth slightly open, and lowers his arm as the lights give Sora his cue to leave. By the time he makes it to the booth the noise washes down to christen the club, the kind of noise that vibrates in your chest extra loudly, like the first time you heard your favorite song.

* * *

> **_We think we're looking at the music scene's hottest new bromance (and is it any wonder we're obsessed)?_ **
> 
> _Notable electronic musician Ansem seems to be taking some much-needed time off, suddenly putting his tour on hiatus after citing "personal reasons" and disappearing from the public eye. Fans are left to wonder if those reasons are at all related to a certain former feature's conspicuous disappearance from the new tracklist—though_ forgetmenot _claims to be focusing her efforts as the witch of words into a new project, a concept album described as an attempt to 'delve into our inability to handle any imperfections in relationships, which makes our mind construct a version of someone that only replicates the parts we see as ideal.' If it's her way of telling us that it just wasn't in the stars for them, we're reading it loud and clear. Both artists have declined to comment._
> 
> _Thankfully, Ansem hasn't left us entirely high and dry: in recent weeks we've seen him start to incorporate a new sound, implying a more collaborative direction from here on out. Digging deep tells us that this marriage of sounds comes from the influence of an old friend, rumored to be a big fish in the little pond the producer hails from—most likely the same inseparable pal he's been seen joshing around with during almost all of his rare public appearances recently. Where Ansem's sound is normally rooted in more traditional fare, the counterpoint comes in a form matching some samples pulled from the archive of his early days_. _It adds up—the latest tracks carry a lot more of that frenetic & irreverent energy that heavily characterized the DJ's breakthrough hits. _
> 
> _At any rate, a touch of the old school is just the life we needed to see injected back into the genre. Back to roots—a sound idea indeed. No wonder it sounds like so much fun._

**Author's Note:**

> [oh u know there's a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5l1485rCO8ia05yMCEECoo?si=EUCzNemARXeDgvmQ_zVwuQ)
> 
> (none of these songs would exist in-universe because i have complicated notions of background world building for a silly au that started out, as everything does, as a gag but this is the Essence and the Energy) 
> 
> it was with great shame that i overwrite my original end tag, " _#sorikuweek2019 | Day 3: Remix_ ," as this is now almost exactly a year late. Oops. One thing or another kept putting it off, and it didn't help how painfully obvious how much this story, like a lot of others i had in the works at the time, carried so much of the melancholy energy i was consuming and returning to light last fall when i was Goin' Thru It. not only that, there were also possibly some negative associations created when i happened to be listening to the the [title song](https://youtu.be/UKYWWfR_GKA) on the playlist at the moment i got into a minor but horrifically inconveniencing car wreck this time last year. cue me thinking to myself over the sound of crunching steel: 'gosh, sure hope this isn't an omen.'


End file.
